Hawaii

Dirty hallways, white tile, and stairwells reconstructed to keep bodies upright. I'm moving forward, I'm moving higher in this building, lifting my legs, pushing myself up to the next step, slowly, slowly. If I look up, I'll die because I'll see exactly what I want to see.. not seeing me. And I really won't die anymore than I'm dying already because I'm thinking about it, I see oceans in my head, pulling me under, drowning me. And I never really liked the ocean very much because when I was ten, I got caught on something, and I couldn't resurface. I was inhaling salt and water, burning my lungs, my eyes, my nose. But then I came up, and I got out of the water. I walked to the sand castle that I had attempted to build earlier and although I didn't swear I'd never like the ocean again, I knew. I knew it would never be able to win me over. Oh, but this is Hawaii. This is different. These waters are clear and blue and beautiful. I hate the word beautiful. Because it's what you embody, and what I do not. Maybe in some cases I can be it too, but I think you take it all away from me. Your waves crash over me, they crumble me, leaving me washed up and dirty on the shore. But when you are close to me, I can breathe you. I can breathe in your salt-coated air, and it doesn't burn like it used to burn. It's sweet, and it's not everything, but it's a part of the everything that I want. I guess I'm just out of luck. I miss you.


--

And school is almost over, and I want to sleep straight through the summer, but not really. I want to go to D.C. and the beach and everywhere. I want to do everything. But I want someone to go with me.. that's all. I've learned more about being alone, and I've learned that it's more unsettling than I can take for a whole eight weeks. And alone is a weird word, too. Because I am and am not alone. I don't want a boyfriend. Because most people will interpret this as such, and it's not that.. yeah.

Four more days.